The Adventure of the Psychic and the Game
by MurderousPen
Summary: The roles have been assigned. The rules have been set. Now the game is afoot for our favourite Psychic detective, his faithful companion, and his friends at the SBPD. Will they deduce their way to victory, or will they lose the game and lose their lives?
1. The Game is Afoot!

**Right, well this idea has been floating around in my head for quite a while, and I finally decided to write it, which, as I read it, might not have been such a great decision. xD **

**Anyway, if the writing style confuses you, don't let it. I was trying to go for a Watson-esque first-person deal from Gus's P.O.V., but that might not have worked out as well as I'd planned. **

**I don't own Psych, and I certainly don't own Sherlock Holmes **_**or**_** Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Or any 19th century clothing. Or anything that could be mentioned in this story.**

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><p>I recall it was sunny; so sunny, my old friend had drawn the blinds and was currently lounging in his favourite chair, staring at his computer screen with such intensity that I was reluctant to interrupt his ponderings. Before I was required to do so, however, he presented me with the question that he had apparently given much consideration.<p>

"Gus...Do you think I should buy a small sect of land in Hawaii?"

I was rather taken aback by his random query.

"Shawn, why would you need a small sect of land in Hawaii?" I could not help but ask.

My confusion must have been evident in my tone, for my friend turned to look at me, brow furrowed.

"You seriously have to ask? Dude, what is one of Hawaii's main exports? _Pineapple!_ We could be set up for life! Pineapple smoothies whenever we wanted! Not to mention it's a _sect_ of land. A _sect_, Gus. That's one of the best words ever! Say it with me, Gus. Sect._ Sect._"

"Shawn, I will not say the word _sect_."

"Dude, you _totally_ just said sect." A grin was twisting up the corners of his lips, to my growing irritation.

"Whatever, Shawn. Just tell me this; how are you going to pay for this small sect of land?" I couldn't repress the smirk the sidled onto my features. After all, it would seem I just outsmarted Santa Barbara's only Private Psychic Detective.

"Easy, Gus! With all the money we make from doing the SBPD's job, not to mention the huge amounts we have in our Indian 401K, I'll be able to cover it with no problem!" That irritating grin was still in place, a fact that irked me more than I care to say.

"Shawn, you do realize that we have about 10 bucks in that stupid Indian 401K, right? I don't think they even call it a 401K! Besides, the money from the cases has to go towards our bills. Not some stupid farm on some tiny little island in Hawaii."

"Aww, lighten up Buddy! Fine, I'll put off my plans for later; but don't think I'll forget! I'm determined to have pineapple smoothies for the rest of my life." Turning back to his computer, my friend closed the page - after bookmarking it, more than likely - and turned to me with a dramatic sigh, complete with a heave of his shoulders.

Having seen the antics of my friend before, I simply turned back to my desktop and contemplated the wording of Psych's next advert. It went on like this for several moments, Shawn attempting to capture my attention, and me steadfastly ignoring his increasingly dramatic ventures. For what seemed to be an eternity, the only sounds that filled the room were nasally whines from my friend, and the clacking of the keys on my keyboard as I desperately typed and deleted my attempts at clever advertisement.

Eventually, the cacophony of equally annoying sounds grated my nerves enough to make me turn to my friend and give him an exasperated look.

"What, Shawn?"

"Gus, I'm _bored." _ The man in question whined, looking - and sounding- for the entire world like a spoiled five-year-old.

"Then do something about it." Was my simple reply. However, upon seeing my friend's obvious distress, I couldn't help but take pity on him. "Have you tried calling Abigail?"

Shawn scoffed. "Of course I haven't tried calling my maybe-girlfriend, Gus. What do you think?" His tone dripped sarcasm, before softening to something that seemed mildly saddened. "It went straight to voicemail. She's either busy or she hasn't decided if we're on or off."

"'On or off?'" I couldn't contain my snort of laughter. "What are you, a seventh grader?"

"Dude, I've been transported back to junior high!" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Seriously though, I think I might die of boredom if I don't do _something_."

"How about we go get some jerk chicken then?" I suggested. It probably wasn't my best idea; not only would we inevitably be taking _my_ company car, but also I was certain it would be I footing the bill for our lunch.

"With pineapple smoothies?"

"You know _that's_ right."

Another grin spread across my friend's face, this one much less obnoxious. "Well then let's go!"

Before we could even get so far as the door, a strange noise caught my ear. A noise that sounded suspiciously like "Hungry like the Wolf". As my friend pulled his phone from his pocket, I realized it was his ringtone. I shook my head ruefully as he answered the call.

"Lassie-face! I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me for long!" A cocky smirk had replaced his grin, and a teasing tone had entered his voice.

Whatever Lassie's reaction to this was, I was rather glad I was unable to hear it.

"A package? For me? Why Lassie, you shouldn't have!" A pause, then, "We'll be there right away. Don't you worry your pretty little oddly-shaped head, Lassie!" Not giving Lassiter the chance to reply, my friend quickly hung up and turned to me.

"Well Gus, looks like we have to make a quick detour before we hit jerk-chicken-and-pineapple-smoothie heaven. Looks like we've got a package from a secret admirer that's just waiting for us down at the SBPD headquarters."

To say I was apprehensive would be a horrible understatement.

"Shawn, how do you know it's a 'secret admirer'? For all we know, it could be some psycho like Yang! Or Yin! Or both of them! Or it could be a bomb, just waiting to blow us to bits! I just got this shirt dry-cleaned - there's no way it's gonna be blown up!"

"Dude, _relax._Don't you think Lassie already sniffed it out? Nah, it's probably some letter admiring my amazing skills and asking what a pharmaceutical rep does."

For some reason, this didn't comfort me in the slightest. However, there _was_ a package waiting on us, and it was obvious that Shawn wished to go see what was in the aforementioned mysterious parcel. What harm could it do for us to just pop in, open the package, look inside, and then go to lunch?

"Okay, fine. But after we see what's inside, we're leaving. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"Even if they're really good buts? Like, stop-and-stare-oh-my-gosh-incredible buts?"

"Wrong kind of buts, Shawn."

"But if we see the right kind of buts, can we stop for a bit?"

"Don't you _have _a girlfriend?"

"She hasn't told me if we're on or off, so I'm assuming we're off until she says we're on."

I shook my head. Clearly, it was useless trying to get through to my lifelong friend.

Deciding it was pointless to delay any longer, I grabbed the keys to the affectionately named 'Blueberry', and we were soon on our way.

The ride to the SBPD was relatively short, mainly because I had purposefully neglected my normal routine of habitually checking the speedometer. Shawn was rather quiet during the ride, though that was probably because he was too preoccupied with his game of keep-scanning-the-radio-stations-to-annoy-the-man-who-lets-you-ride-in-his-company-car-and-doesn't-charge-you-for-the-gas.

Upon entering the station, the first thing I noticed was Lassie, Juliet, and the Chief huddled in the conference room, a rather large box situated in the middle of the large oak table that separated them. Lassiter was making agitated motions, while Juliet appeared to be attempting to calm him. Chief Vick seemed thoroughly unperturbed by the detective's outburst, more than likely used to such events.

Unfortunately, I was so caught up with my 'observations', I failed to notice McNabb's presence, which resulted in a very un-manly noise ripping from my throat when his large hand clamped down on my shoulder. The other meaty paw was presumably resting on Shawn's shoulder, though he had undoubtedly known Buzz was behind us. More than likely, he had already figured out what was going on in the conference room. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if Shawn had already determined what was going on with nigh everyone in the bullpen as well. Even though I've known him since we were both in diapers, I couldn't help but marvel at the man-child's observational skills. Granted, his father had practically pounded the knowledge of _how_ to observe so thoroughly into him, but some amount of Shawn's incredible talent _had _to be natural ability.

Buzz steered us towards the conference room without as much as a kind greeting. This was what first alerted me to the tension that had permeated every part of the department. Clearly, they were afraid that it would be another Yin/Yang situation, something no one was eager to repeat. Still, I couldn't help but feel like they were overreacting just a bit; after all, Yin was dead, and Yang was still locked in the asylum, not to mention the fact that there would've been a Yin-Yang symbol on top of the package if it were from the psychopathic woman.

Try as I might, I couldn't blame them for their over-reaction. The Yin/Yang case was probably the biggest thing the SBPD had ever encountered. It had nearly taken Shawn's life, not to mention the life of one Juliet O'Hara. After an event so deadly, the department was bound to be tense. Now, with the arrival of this mysterious package for Shawn and me, things were bound to be a lot worse.

The doors to the conference room were flung open as we reached them, and the Chief quickly ushered us in. Lassiter was still fuming in the corner, and Juliet was in the opposite corner, probably trying to stay as far away from the package as possible. I noticed a moment too late that Buzz had left us, disappearing to who-knows-where while we opened the box.

My friend rubbed his hands together and grinned at the occupants of the room.  
>"Let's get crackin' then, shall we?"<p>

"Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick intercepted, "we're not sure what exactly is in the box you're so eager to open. We _have_determined that it's not a bomb or anything of that sort, but we're not sure what could be released when you open that lid. It could release some toxin into the air, or it could contain some venomous creature, or -"

"Well, I guess we'll just have to see, won't we!" Shawn gleefully interrupted, his grin still in place. "C'mon Gus, it's addressed to you too."

I have no qualms in admitting my reluctance to open the package alongside him. As a pharmaceutical rep, I am rather well acquainted with the various poisons that could be released into the air and how quickly - and painfully - they could kill their victims. However, Shawn was my best friend, and therefore I was obligated to follow him as he strode across the room to the table and placed his hands on the large package.

"Ready buddy?" He queried after I had positioned my hands in a similar fashion to his.

"Nope. Let's do this." I was hoping I wouldn't die after we opened the mysterious box; those were horrible last words.

I was relieved when, upon opening the box and examining the contents, all we found were numerous pairs of neatly folded old clothing, and a note addressed to Shawn and me.

"Will you do the honour, buddy?" Shawn asked, offering the note to me.

Nodding, I took the note from his hands and unfolded it, clearing my throat before reading the following:

"Dear Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster,

It has come to my attention that your psychic detective agency, Psych, is doing rather well as of late. I must offer you my congratulations, gentleman; that is quite the achievement. However, I have not gone through the trouble of sending you this merely to exchange pleasantries. I have written to you because I wish to play a game with you, Mr. Spencer. I also wish to include Mr. Guster, Detective Lassiter, and the lovely Detective O'Hara in our little game. You will undoubtedly notice the surplus of 19th century clothing that I have sent with this note. You see, Mr. Spencer, this game of ours will be quite thrilling.

I am sure you are aware of the Sherlock Holmes series, penned by the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, are you not? I cannot help but draw similarities between some of Doyle's characters and some of you. Therefore, I have devised a small plan to see just how alike you are. This game of mine is quite the ingenious one, Mr. Spencer, as I'm sure you'll come to understand. Now, pay close attention to what I say.

Mr. Spencer, you are to assume the role of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Mr. Guster, you are to assume the role of Mr. Sherlock Holmes' faithful companion, Doctor John Watson.

Detective Lassiter, you are to assume the role of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Detective O'Hara, you are to assume the role of the lovely Irene Adler.

The clothes I have sent are all costumes for you to wear while in character.

The rules of the game are simple. You are, under no circumstances, to ask for outside help unless I approve of it, which I assure you, I most likely will not. You must play the game if you value your continuing existence. You must stay in character. These rules are the only things I demand of you. Good luck, gentlemen and Detective O'Hara.

The game is afoot!

Sincerely,  
>M."<p>

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><p><strong>So, what did you think? Did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Do you want to send me encouragement? Death threats? Drop me a review and let me know! Oh, and can any of you guess what "M" stands for? (It's an easy one, I assure you.)<strong>


	2. The Game Begins

Right, here's Chapter 2 of "The Adventure of the Psychic and the Game"! *Thank you, Captain Obvious/Colin Mochrie*

**Thank you so much to all those who reviewed! :3**

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><p>All was quiet as I finished reading the note. Jules stood in the corner, seemingly frozen in place. Something akin to fear shone in her normally calm eyes. Chief Vick stared at the note in veiled horror, more than likely fancying the case was much like the YinYang cases. Shawn's eyes were bright with excitement as he started rummaging through the clothing. Lassiter's right eye twitched.

I must admit, the note had startled me more than I care to admit. Who was the mysterious "M'? More importantly, why did he want to play his games with _Shawn_ of all people, and why would he add two detectives and a pharmaceutical rep?

"Who in the name of sweet justice is 'M'?" Lassiter's agitated voice shattered the silence, causing Jules to jump slightly and the Chief to tear her eyes away from the note I held in my hands.

"Moriarty," Shawn replied, not looking up from his task of inspecting the costumes. "He's making himself the Moriarty to my Holmes."

"It makes sense, really," I added. "Professor Moriarty was Sherlock Holmes' arch nemesis. Apparently, this dude wants to be Shawn's arch nemesis. This game presents him the perfect opportunity to do so."

"Do we really have to play his game?" Juliet's voice cut in and I could not help but notice the slight tremor in it.

"Jules, seriously? Where's your sense of adventure?" Shawn grinned at her. "Besides, you get to play Irene Adler; the one Holmes is secretly in love with." His grin morphed into a smirk and my eyes seemed to roll of their own accord.

"Seriously, Shawn? _That's_ how you're gonna play this?"

"Gus, don't be the goop-ghost from Ghostbusters. We're pretty much being forced to play this game anyway; why not have a little fun with it?"

"Didn't you say the goop-ghost from Ghostbusters was cool?"

"Huh. Well, you gotta admit, being a ghost made of gelatinous-like goo sounds pretty awesome.""You know _that's_ right."

"Gentlemen! Please!" Chief Vick's exasperated voice cut through the air, effectively silencing us. "Now, as Mr. Spencer has stated, it seems you four have no choice but to play this psychopath's game. Also, 'M' elucidated you are not to have outside assistance on this case. However, I am going to be posting a 24-hour guard detail outside of the Psych offices, and outside Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara's homes."

"Uh, Chief? Isn't that a bit dangerous? I mean, M was very firm on the 'no-outside-help' thing. Won't a guard detail just endanger us?" Apparently, this was the wrong question to ask. She sent me a glare so icy it sent shivers dancing up and down my spine.

"Mr. Guster," the Chief began, her voice deathly quiet, "If you think for _one moment_ that I am going to send two of my finest detectives, the department's psychic consultant, and yourself out on some death-trap case without _some_ form of protection for you all, you're dead wrong. I will _not_ take that sort of risk. If you'll care to remember, the last time something like this happened, Detective O'Hara nearly lost her life." Everyone in the room flinched at that, but the Chief ploughed on. "I assure you, there _will_ be a protective detail assigned to each of you, and they _will_ do their jobs efficiently. Understood?"I nodded; fearing speech would only serve to provoke her further.

Again, silence settled over the room. However, this was broken a few moments later when Shawn gave an exultant cry. When I quirked an eyebrow at him, he merely beamed and held up a silk garment for my inspection.

"I have a smoking jacket, Gus! A genuine smoking jacket!" Had the previous conversations not been so serious, I would have laughed at his childish behaviour. As it were, I managed a weak chuckle before asking the inevitable.

"Shawn, you _do_ realize you don't smoke, right?""It doesn't _matter_, Gus! It's a _smoking jacket!_ It's like, the epitome of cool!" Shawn responded as he slid his arms through the sleeves of the loose-fitting garment. "Besides, Sherlock Holmes had a pipe, right? Whaddya wanna bet I have a pipe hidden somewhere in there?" A mischievous grin had sidled onto his features as he delved back into the pile of outdated clothing.

Lassiter scowled in disgust. "Spencer, you seem to be enjoying this a _bit_ too much. Not to mention you knew what 'M' stood for. How do we know _you_ didn't do this as a joke?" The suspicion in his tone was thick enough that even Buzz would understand.

"Carlton!" Jules reprimanded, finally moving from her place in the corner to stand near Shawn.

"Shawn would never do anything like that! Granted, he may do something stupid and thoughtless, but he would never do something like _this_! Especially not after the Yin/Yang incident!" "Besides Lassie, do you honestly think that if I had owned a smoking jacket beforehand, I wouldn't be wearing it around constantly, showing off my awesomeness? Oh, and about the 'M' part of your accusation. Any self-respecting Sherlock Holmes fan would know who Moriarty is! Have you honestly never read the books?"

"No, I haven't; the main character constantly puts down the authorities and is a drug addict, yet he is portrayed as some great genius! Why would I want to read _that?_"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because it's _awesome?_ Besides, I constantly put down authorise and I have a severe pineapple addiction, yet you still keep me around!"

"He's got a point," I added.

"Shut it, Guster." Lassiter snapped waspishly.

The Chief muttered something undistinguishable, though I'm certain I caught the words "running a kindergarten" somewhere in her statement. Speaking up, she said, "I realize the note didn't specify when this 'game' was to begin, but I can only assume it meant immediately. Seeing as how you have been instructed to stay in character for the duration of the game and not seek outside help without his permission, we must assume you are not to speak to anyone, bar each other. Therefore, I want to make two things perfectly clear. One, you will be followed by a team of armed guards at all times, though you will not see them. Two, for the love of all that's good, please,_ be careful._" She gave each of us a solemn look before instructing us to go change into our costumes.

Dread was written on Juliet's countenance, and Lassiter looked irritated. Shawn, as per norm in situations such as these, had a bright gleam in his eye; one I knew could only mean trouble later on.

We converged upon the conference table, sifting through the pile of garments to locate the ones that belonged to our respective characters. Juliet's costume was the easiest to find, followed closely by Lassiter's. Shawn had already adorned his smoking jacket, though it was surprising to see the sheer amount of _layers_ his costume consisted of. Not to mention the dressing gown and the Inverness. I daresay Shawn was disappointed with his lack of a deerstalker, yet I'm certain he will get over the loss. My costume was also many-layered, and came with a medicine bag.

After we had collected our garments, we set off to change; Shawn, Lassie, and I heading to men's restroom, the stalls sufficing as dressing rooms, while Juliet headed to the ladies room.

It was quite a tight squeeze as I wrestled my bulky costume into the cramped stall. I draped my garments over the toilet - after I had closed the lid, of course - before stripping myself of my current attire. To my chagrin, the costume included 19th century underwear also, forcing me to rid myself of my briefs. Surprisingly, the period undergarments were quite nice, a small comfort to my wounded pride. I pulled on the brown trousers and adorned the white button-down shirt. I put on the earth-toned waistcoat next, and I'm ashamed to admit it took me a few moments to clip the chain of a pocket-watch to the correct loop, and then slide the heavy metal watch into the provided pocket. Next, I slid on my own silk smoking jacket. I found myself agreeing with Shawn's earlier statement; smoking jackets really _were_ the epitome of cool. There were no shoes provided, so I assumed I was allowed to keep my brown loafers.

Stuffing my normal clothing into the black medicine bag, I donned the heavy black coat and black top hat, and then exited the stall, leaning against the opposite wall as I waited for Shawn and Lassie to make their appearances.

Lassiter was next to emerge, and I could not contain my snort of laughter as I took in the sight before me.

His uniform was black; a thick button-down shirt that was a tad tighter in the chest than it was in the abdomen, and a pair of trousers akin to mine, bar the colour. A bright silver badge was pinned to his breast, a similar one pinned to his constable's hat. Shiny black shoes adorned his feet as he stalked over to stand by me, a scowl etched onto his features. He held out his clothes, which I added to my medicine bag, which I noticed was growing increasingly heavy with each deposit.

It took a few moments for Shawn to make his appearance, but when he did, it was a spectacular one. I must grudgingly admit the outfit suited him well.

His suit was much the same as mine, though a different colour; dark trousers, white shirt, dark waistcoat (though his was devoid of a pocket-watch). However, a cravat adorned his neck, and he had substituted his smoking jacket for his tweed Inverness. His shoes were the same as Lassiter's, if not smaller. He had adopted a serious look to go with his attire, and for a moment, he really _did_ look like what I imagined Mr. Holmes would. With his rather sharp features and quick hazel eyes, it seemed as though the famous detective had been ripped from the pages of a book and modernized. The only differences I could spot were the eye colour - Holmes was said to have piercing grey eyes - and the modern clothes slung over one shoulder, and the dressing gown and smoking jacket slung over the other. Of course, I knew Shawn had a flair for the dramatic - after all, his psychic ruse took some amount of acting skills - yet I never knew they extended so far!

Crossing over to me in two long strides, the promptly transferred the two different sets of clothing to my shoulders, which I, in turn, stuffed into the now-full medicine bag.

"Ready Watson? Lestrade?" My friend's voice was now tinged with an awful British accent.

"Wait, how exactly am I supposed to act?" Lassiter's voice was thankfully devoid of any accent other than his natural one.

"Like a blundering idiot," Was my reply; I took had forsaken the accent."Shouldn't be hard," Shawn muttered.

"_Holmes_, I must say, you should really drop the accent." "If you insist, _Watson_." With that, he exited the bathroom, Lassiter and I trailing closely behind.

The three of us made quite a stir as we ambled through the bullpen, yet, staying true to form, we ignored the juvenile titters of the officers. Thankfully, we met Juliet near the Chief's office, and I must say she looked stunning.

She was wearing a gorgeous crimson evening dress, complete with a paletot that hugged her figure. The neckline was tasteful, edged with lace. Her hair was pinned back in a bun, and a slight hint of rouge tinged her cheeks pink. It was a single-petticoat dress - thankfully, else she would have difficulties moving- and the tips of black Balmorals peeped out from under the edge of the dress.

Jules greeted us with a nervous smile, though it soon faltered, as if she were unsure of how to greet us.

"Ah, Miss Adler. Your arrival is _most_ timely." Shawn stated, a small smile playing about his lips as he gave a slight bow in her direction. "If you will accompany Watson, Lestrade, and I back to Baker Street, we shall begin our work on this most baffling case." He proffered his arm to Juliet, which she nervously accepted.

Now, I could only assume "Baker Street" meant the Psych offices, which was a thankfully short drive from our current location. I reached down to open my bag, groping around until I found what I was looking for; my car keys. However, Shawn stopped me with a harsh look, reminding me that (a) we were not to break character, and (b) they didn't have cars in the 19th century, therefore we would be walking to the Psych offices. The idea was not one I cherished, yet I valued my life enough that I acquiesced, allowing Shawn and Jules to exit first, followed by Lassiter, as I brought up the rear, observing my comrades as we trudged along.

Shawn's back was straight, shoulders back as he walked down the street, his long strides shortened for Juliet's benefit. There was a certain pride in his stature that almost made it seem as if he were playing the role of an ex-army doctor instead of me. In fact, his posture made me more than a bit self-conscious, and I slipped further into my role, straightening my poster and throwing my soldiers back, adjusting my gait so that I limped a bit like the good Doctor, and nigh marched down the streets.

Juliet's back was also ramrod-straight, though I was unsure if this was caused by the whalebone corset or her evident worry. Her steps were light and dainty as she clung to Shawn's arm, and I noticed how he reassuringly patted her hand.

Lassiter seemed to be on the verge of breaking out into military march as he walked. His strides were long and even, one foot leaving the ground seconds after the other had stomped down. His posture seemed very stiff, as if he were hyperaware of everything going on around him. I noticed him cringe every time a laugh would erupt from someone, mocking us as we hurried along. To be completely honest, the immature giggling irked me as well.

Despite the irksome behaviour of Santa Barbara's streetwalkers (and drivers, in some instances), we made it back to the Psych offices without incident. After entering the main room, Shawn led Juliet to the settee before crossing the room and throwing himself in his desk chair. After rooting around in one of the drawers for several minutes, he finally drew back and placed the procured bubble pipe firmly between his lips, giving it a few experimental puffs before languidly reclining, propping his feet on the cluttered surface of his desk.

Lassiter moved to lounge in one of the plush chairs, and I chose to seat myself at my desk, drumming my fingers against the hard wooden surface as I looked at Shawn, wondering what our next move would be.

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><p><strong>Reviews are like Shules lovin'. :3<strong>


	3. The Game Twists

**To everyone who reviewed, thank you so much! Honestly, you have no idea how much it means to me when you review. :3 **

**Oh, and because you have asked so prettily, I've included a special treat in this chapter. ;D**

**-Insert boring, obvious disclaimer-**

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><p>We sat in uncomfortable silence for an undeterminable amount of time, no one daring to speak. The tension in the room was nigh visible as we waited to see what the next move would be. Would M communicate with us in some way? Or perhaps we were to wait until something major and suspicious was reported, then react? Or was this whole thing merely an elaborate joke? I was unsure, though I had complete faith that Shawn would unravel this web of mystery and lies before anyone was hurt. At least, I hoped he would.<p>

After two re-fills of his bubble pipe, Shawn finally unfurled his lithe frame from his desk chair and began to pace around the room, iridescent bubbles bursting as they landed on various bits of him. It took him three or four laps around the office before he finally spoke up/

"Moriarty wants to play a game, and I for one will not leave him without a worthy opponent!" Shawn ran his fingers through his unruly hair, causing it to stand on end as he continued to pace. "I fear it is a quite excellent game indeed. For one thing, he has us in a position of vulnerability. For another, he has plotted his plan for far longer than I fancy contemplating. It seems the perfect set-up for his victory. However, he has not had a rival such as Sherlock Holmes before!" He stopped in the centre of the room, a peculiar grin sidling on to his features.

"Yes, but what shall our first move be in this devious sport?" Juliet quietly queried from her place on the settee.

"Ah, I fear that is a much darker matter, Miss Adler." A dark cloud seemed to pass over my friend's countenance as his tone took on a more sombre quality. "If I am correct - which, in this case, I dearly hope I am not - to-night, there will be a murder, the victim most likely a woman, her life taken somewhere between 10 o'clock and 12 o'clock. Along with her body, I believe there will also be a note found, addressed to us." "Holmes!" I cried, incredulous, "How could you possibly know all this?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson!" He replied with a small wink. "As Lestrade here is with Scotland Yard, a murder would be the quickest way of getting him to a crime scene, with us undoubtedly in tow. The victim will most likely be a woman because he would not be looking to kill for pleasure, nor would he kill for power or any other motive, but he would go for a simple, quick kill, therefore most likely a woman. He would need a certain window of time to kill; at night, of course - less chance of being spotted - yet not so late that people wouldn't still be milling about. After all, the body would have to be discovered, and it would be to his liking for it to be discovered quickly; after all, he will no doubt be leaving us a message with the remains. The note serves as a means of communicating the next clue to us."

It was disturbing how deeply Shawn was in his role. It was certainly impressive, but disturbing all the same. Then again, was this not his normal method, albeit a bit tweaked? Was this not what he usually did when we worked a case: go over the facts, observe, form hypotheses, then expand upon that and catch the perpetrator? Or was this something completely different, a new side of Shawn brought out by the game we were forced to play? That theory begged the question, was this M's plan all along?

"I still think you may have had something to do with this, Shaw-Sherlock." Lassie-strade muttered, glaring at Shawn from under his constable's helmet.

"Though this case has undoubtedly saved me from ennui, I would never stoop so low as to do something of this magnitude. That aside, my pride is too great for me to concoct such a game. What would I do when we reached the end of the clues that I had provided? Turn myself in? Ha! Mark the case as unsolved? It is a scoff-able concept, Detective Inspector, and I suggest you use your brain before making dunderheaded accusations." My friend stated coolly. "Now, considering there is nothing we can do until to-night, I suggest we attempt to rest. We will need our strength, after all." He turned on his heel and started walking back towards his desk chair, but Juliet's voice stopped him.

"_Mr. Holmes_, are you implying we simply wait here until an innocent woman is killed later?" Her voice was trembling with barely-concealed rage as she gave Shawn an icy glare.

"I'm afraid so, _Miss Adler_. What choice do we have?" Shawn's voice was thick with emotion for a moment, and his eyes shone with a deep remorse and regret before he regained his cool, aloof composure. He completed the journey to his chair and once again deposited himself in it, stretching out and closing his eyes. His brow was furrowed, however, ruining the illusion of calm. Knowing him for as long as I have, I could see he was deeply bothered by the idea of letting an innocent life be stolen away in Death's cold grasp. Unfortunately, there was nothing he - or anyone else - could do. His dissatisfaction with his helplessness was evident to me, though probably not to Lassiter and Juliet; after all, they had only known him for a few years, whereas I had known him since we had been in nappies. A few moments later, the two detectives followed suit, leaning back against their chairs and closing their eyes, no doubt battling their conscience about what they were doing.

I felt the first cold tendrils of fear and dread creeping upon me, finding footholds to root themselves in, burrowing into my heart and soul, infesting my mind and setting me on edge. The shoots that were wrapped around my heart constricted painfully, causing me to bite my lip as I too reclined in my chair. We were willingly sitting back as a would-be murder plotted the death of some innocent woman. Was she a young woman? A teenager? Would she feel pain and fear as he killed her? Did she have a family that cared about her? Was he stalking her even now, waiting until night fell to make his move and end her life, allowing her life to slip away into the ether? Were we any better than he was? We were not physically murdering the unknown female, yet our hands would still be stained with her blood. Was this game worth the life of a young woman that most likely had a family who loved her, who had a full life ahead of her? Was anything worth the life of one so young, with so much ahead of them? I could think of nothing so precious. And yet here we were, not alerting the police to what would more than likely transpire. Here we were, _resting_, when we could find some way of initiating the game ourselves. Surely, with a mind like Shawn's, we could find a way! Then, I recalled Shawn's earlier words.

"_For one thing, he has us in a position of vulnerability. For another, he has plotted his plan for far longer than I fancy contemplating."_

A sick feeling twisted my gut into knots, and bile rose in my throat as I considered what this psychopath had done. He truly _had_ placed us in a position of vulnerability. If we went back to the SPBD, broke our roles and told the police what would happen, there would be dire consequences, and the payment for such a break in the rules would probably be our lives. Yet, if we continued the path we were on, we would have to deal with the fact that we had sent the poor girl to her death by not alerting someone, anyone, to the lunatic's plot. The loss of the woman's life would weigh on our consciences until it finally broke us, or at least weakened us severely. We were vulnerable; the trap was inescapable. Had he been planning this all along? Had he pegged his first victim long before he sent us the box? Had he stayed up at night, laughing about our future moral dilemma? Did he enjoy it? Revel in it? A sudden flurry of movement distracted me from my rapidly darkening thoughts. Shawn had abruptly stood, then slid out of his Inverness and slung it haphazardly over a table in one fluid movement. He proceeded to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and roll the sleeves up to his elbows. Apparently satisfied with the change, he sat back down in his seat, shooting me a quick, unfathomable look. It took me a moment to realize he had provided me a distraction to take my mind away from the thoughts of M and his twisted games. I sent him a quick smile of gratitude, but his eyes were already closed, head lolled back, Adam's apple protruding slightly as his throat was exposed. Nonetheless, I'm certain he knew I was thankful of his actions.

The hours ticked by slowly, the sun seeming to take forever as it trekked downwards in the sky. No one had spoken since Shawn had responded to Juliet's question, and it had been fairly still since the faux-psychic's outburst of movement.

As darkness crept upon us and it grew closer to Shawn's predicted period, the previous dread that gripped me returned with a vengeance, nigh immobilizing me as we sat in the shadows. It felt as if ice had been poured into my very soul, chilling the very marrow in my bones! Nay, I've never known such terror as I did sitting there in the dark - for Shawn had neglected to switch on the lights, contenting himself with drawing back the blinds and leaving the window bare - waiting to be called to a scene where some woman had met her untimely demise.

At nine thirty, the full moon shone through our large front window, illuminating the three figures that sat before me.

Juliet was still sitting in the far corner, her posture stiff, face grim. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw something wet roll down her cheek, yet when I blinked, it was gone. Lassiter too was still seated in his original position, jaw clenched, a muscle jumping. Shawn sat in his desk chair, hands steepled on his breast, head resting on his fingertips. From his position, one half of his face was bathed in silvery moonlight, turning his normally fair skin to a ghastly, corpse-like pale, while the other half was swathed in darkness, a hazel eye the only thing visible, and it - along with it's companion - was gazing in Juliet's direction, a look of sadness and longing in them. Glancing back to Juliet, I saw she seemed to be ignoring Shawn's stare. I turned back to Shawn only to find him staring at me now, his eyes telling me what he clearly could not.

"_I'm sorry, Gus, for dragging you and Lassiter and Juliet into this. I'm so sorry someone has to die. I'm sorry." _

I tried to send him a reassuring look, yet I couldn't muster it. In fact, I found myself laying more and more blame upon Shawn. It was his fault we were in this situation in the first place, wasn't it? After all, he had decided to start this stupid agency years ago, and had drug me along with him as he went on his adventures, carrying out harebrained plans that very nearly got us killed on many occasions. It was his fault some girl had to die, as well. He could have easily found another way to initiate the game and alert M to that fact! He was a genius, blast it! He was even being compared to Sherlock Holmes, one of the greatest minds this world has ever seen! He had such genius, yet he deemed it easier to let a life be taken than to think of another way? What a selfish, self-serving, lazy imbecile! If he would not use his incredible gifts to _save_ lives, what good was he? Why should he have them if he would allow them to go to waste as he all but granted a would-be murdered permission to make his first kill? What sort of man was my 'friend'? Did I even know him at all? My eyes narrowed as I glared at him, trying to convey my deep hatred and accusations through my stare. Or perhaps I was merely trying to burn a hole in his skull; I must admit, I was unsure of my intentions at that point.

Betrayal flashed over his features before anguish contorted his face into a mask of pain. I noted he was biting his lip so hard it had turned white; an attempt to quiet himself. The depth of his agony shocked me, surprised me, and I instantly regretted my hasty actions. Of course Shawn had tried thinking of another way; I'm certain of it! Most likely, it would have been impossible, or close enough to it, to initiate this morbid sport. We were helpless, vulnerable, trapped like animals in cages. Shawn had as much control over this as Lassie did! What had I been thinking when I conjured up my wild accusations? Was my mind deserting me along with my courage and dignity?

I opened my mouth to speak, but hastily closed it, unwilling to break the silence that still reigned over the room. It seemed almost…sacred. Instead, I looked to Shawn again, only to find his face a smooth mask, his emotions deeply buried, eyes blank as they stared at the far wall.

What had I done to my friend?

Here, I fear my heavy eyelids and weary mind got the best of the rest of my body, and I succumbed to sleep's siren call. However, it was very brief - only an hour's respite from torturous Reality - for I was awakened by the noise of a loud bang that reverberated through the room like a gunshot, startling it's occupants into alertness.

Lassiter and Shawn were already on their feet, stalking menacingly towards the figure standing in the doorway. Juliet stood as well and made to follow them, yet Shawn gently pushed her back into her chair, murmuring something I couldn't hear before continuing his fearsome walk towards that intruder.I fear my sluggish mind was to blame for my hesitance, yet when Shawn and Lassiter jumped the taller man, I jumped from my seat and attempted to join the fray. However, we halted our actions - Shawn and Lassiter ready to pummel the man into oblivion, and I mere steps away from the fight - when our quarry cried out in an all-too familiar voice.

"Shaw- I mean, Sherlock! DI Lestrade! It's me, Buzz!" Ah, so McNabb was sent here! But why? What could be so important that the chief would risk sending someone from the department to the Psych offices? "Ah, Officer McNabb," Lassiter said, straightening himself. "What is your report, man?" I must give him credit for staying in credit. "There's a dead body, sir. Found on the boardwalk, with a note addressed to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a Doctor Watson, a Miss Adler, and you, Detective Inspector Lestrade." McNabb fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable.

Juliet drew in a shuddering breath as she rose from the settee and stood behind Shawn. I must admit, I had nearly forgotten about Shawn's prediction, but now his deduction had become a reality, and bile once more stung my throat. My friend's face had gone ashen, nearly matching Lassiter's complexion. Shawn recovered first from his shock.

"Very well, McNabb. Lead us to the body. Oh, and please refrain from using those vile contractions; it is most unbecoming." With a curt nod and a muttered "This way", Buzz led the way out into the cool night air. I couldn't repress a shudder as a shadow moved behind the building; of course it was one of the armed guards - wasn't it?- yet I couldn't repress my shudder of dread as we left the safety of the building. Juliet stayed close to Shawn's side, and I noticed she had twined her left hand around Shawn's right, squeezing tightly as they hurried along. Lassiter also seemed on edge, and though Shawn seemed calm, I knew he was upset; our earlier encounter proved that much. It seemed this whole ordeal had everyone acting out of character - literally.

Within minutes we reached the scene of the atrocious crime. Another shiver shimmied down my spine as I realized how close to the Psych office it was. Did he purposefully choose this location, to shake us up? Would we have even heard her scream, if she had been provided the opportunity to do so? Could we have possibly saved her if we had known she was being murdered?

Repulsion twisted my gut as I glanced down at the young woman's body. Her skin was washed porcelain in the moonlight, unblemished save for the stark purple-and-black bruises that mottled her neck. Golden waves of hair fanned out around her prone form, and her eyes were closed peacefully, as if she were resting. If it weren't for the glaring marks round her neck and her mouth, shaped in an 'o' of horror, I would have thought her merely sleeping, too tired to venture any father. She could not have been older than twenty-seven; far, far too young to reach the end of her days.

Shawn released Jules' hand and went to kneel by the body, no doubt analyzing everything he could, before plucking a note from the ground not far from where the girl lay. Straightening up, her unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading:

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, DI Lestrade, and the lovely Miss Adler,

You will no doubt be upset with the manner of which I have delivered this note; rest assured, I am displeased with the necessity of the woman's death. However, her demise _does_ serve two purposes for me - two very important purposes.

The main one: This begins the chain of clues that will ultimately lead you to my location. However, if you fail to solve the clues in a certain amount of time, I fear there will be most _severe_ consequences.

Which brings me to purpose two: If any rules are disobeyed, if you break character, if you ask for outside help without my express permission (which would be included in one of the clues), or if you fail to solve the clues within the time frame, I fear the lovely Miss Adler will fall into my capable and merciless hands. As she seems to be very, _very _dear to you Mister Holmes, I suggest you and your friends comply with my rules.

Good evening and good luck,

M."

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><p><strong>Oh, it's a bit longer than I expected. XD<strong>

**Well, did you like it? Hate it? Wish to send me a death threat? All can be done by pressing review! :D **

**- MP **


	4. A Game in Scarlet

**I am so sorry! I'm afraid my computer was broken for quite some time, and I've only now gotten it fixed properly. I feel awful for not posting for so long, and doubly so because this chapter will probably be awful.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. SylverSpyder: Your review literally made me cry. Seriously, thank you so much! You have no idea how much that one review meant to me. Thank you soo much. :3**

**And here is Chapter four! I'm afraid it's not very good; and it's probably not as long as the others either. Sorry! **** Once again, I own nothing.**

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><p>It was as if ice water had been poured directly into my soul. What fresh hell was this? A quick glance around told me that the others felt the same. However, it would seem Shawn was the effected most profoundly.<p>

His face was stony, yet his eyes were glinting with a ferocity I had not seen in quite some time. His lips were pressed together in a firm line, and a muscle was jumping in his jaw. He clutched the paper so hard his knuckles were white, stark against his dark apparel. It was quite obvious he was furious; there was no doubt he would do anything to catch the vile creature that was toying with us so.

I tried to meet his gaze, but he was steadfastly ignoring me, choosing to glare down at the paper instead. I wondered what he could be gathering from the simple piece of parchment, though I thought it wise not to ask; after all, the sword of Damocles was dangling over our heads, and one wrong move, one mistake, and it could end Juliet's life.

A whimper rose to greet the night air, and it took me a moment to realize it was Juliet. Blast it all! This - this psychopath was targeting her so soon after her near-death experience with Yin? She had only gotten back from her "break"; she was by no means ready to deal with a death threat such as this!

The ice in my soul quickly melted as my blood boiled. The foul creature who was formulating this atrocious 'game' would pay most dearly for his actions; perhaps with his life, if Shawn reached him first. I was content with tossing him in penitentiary for the rest of his miserable existence; however, I fear Shawn is a steelier man than I when his friends are threatened. I had seen the look in his eyes when he was forced to choose between Jules and Abigail; a combination of agony and rage. Now, with Juliet's life at stake once more - and his feelings for her even deeper - he would no doubt react horribly once he caught this wretched culprit. I highly doubt Shawn would shoot the man or anything of that sort; no, Shawn would be most likely fight the man to the death. I had never seen him exhibit much violence; however I knew he was capable of doing so.

Lassiter cleared his throat and sniffed before saying, "Shouldn't there be a clue here somewhere?"

His attention successfully diverted from whatever fearsome scheme he was plotting for our antagonist, Shawn furrowed his brows and scanned the area around him. When his sharp eyes came to rest on the body, however, he gave a strange yell of triumph.

"Of course! Scarlet! This woman's shirt is coloured scarlet!"

"Holmes, perhaps this relates back to his threat of harming Ms. Adler?" I hated to voice the thought, yet it had to be said. "After all, scarlet is the colour of the young lady's top, and Ms. Adler's dress is crimson; both are shades of red."

"Clever deduction, Watson; you're coming along well." Shawn replied without looking at me. "However, I fear that is not correct. The untrained mind would automatically make that connection, however, _my _highly-trained faculties recognize this as a clue! Tell me, Watson, what was the name of our first tale which you published in the _Strand_?"

I thought for a moment, before replying, "_A Study in Scarlet!" _

"Precisely! Tell me, Watson, are we living in an area surrounded by water?"

"Why, yes Holmes, we are standing near water even as we speak." I hadn't an inkling where he was taking this, however I felt I would soon find out.

"Good. Now, what is normally used to traverse water?"

"Why, a ship, Holmes, but surely you know this!"

"Of course I do, Watson; do you think me daft? However, I am trying to make a point. Now, what do ships normally carry?"

"Cargo," I replied, still more than a bit confused.

"Watson, do you recall reading the morning's newspaper?" I did indeed remember doing so, and I nodded.

"Good. Tell me what the front page article was on."

"Well, there was a shipment of supplies for the new building downtown coming into port."

"Exactly! Now, did the article mention the name of the ship?"

I nodded the affirmative.

"Pray tell what the name of the ship was, Watson, if you can recall it."

I thought for a moment, and then replied, "I do believe it was called _The Scarlet Lady._" Understanding flooded me and I gasped. "Holmes! You don't think -"

"I do, Watson, I do."

"What time was this ship to come in?" Lassiter queried harshly.

"10:30, sir." Buzz replied. "A buddy of mine works on the construction site, and I was supposed to help him unload the cargo."

"Let us go, then, lest we be too late!" Shawn cried, a manic gleam in his eye.

I dared not voice the thought running through my mind; _what if we were wrong?_ Granted, we were aware of the risk when the first note arrived with the blasted box of clothing, however I doubt any of us expected something like this to occur. I knew we had to keep calm and carry on with the investigation; however I couldn't erase the small, niggling doubt that agitated my heart.

The port wasn't far from our current location, something to tilt the game in our favour. Lassiter lead the way, followed closely by Buzz and another policeman whose name I did not know. I quirked an eyebrow at Shawn, yet he still seemed to be avoiding me; an apology was in order, I could tell. However, as I opened my mouth to speak, Shawn moved from his position by the girl to Juliet's side, placing an arm around her shoulders.

"It will all be fine, Ms. Adler," I heard him say, "I shan't let any harm come to you; Hell take me if I do!" Then, he did something I didn't expect - and apparently, neither did Juliet. He leaned down and brushed his lips to her cheek in a gentlemanly fashion. Her suspiciously shiny eyes turned to him, searching his face for some unknown thing. Then, in a quick movement, she brushed her lips against his before pulling back, untangling herself from him, and setting off in the direction Lassiter and the others had gone. Shawn stood, awestruck, until reason returned to him and he set off after her, his long strides hurried.

I quickly caught up to him and touched his shoulder.

"Sherlock, old man, I'm dreadfully sorry. I meant nothing of it; I swear! Please, forgive me old chap, and let all be well between us." My plea seemed to go unnoticed until he turned to me, his eyes filled with some horrible mix of sorrow and pain.

"You are my oldest friend, John. You betrayed me with the accusations in your eyes. I should quite like to think you were merely confused and upset with the whole matter, and your mind thought it fit to cast the blame on someone, and that someone unfortunately happened to be me. However, I have come to find things aren't always what we wish them to be." With his message delivered, he left me behind, quickening his pace until he had caught up to the head of the group.

I was unable to process what had just happened, and my legs refused to move faster, even as my mind decided to move slower. Had I really cut him so deeply with my errant thoughts? Would my oldest friend be able to forgive me irrational actions, or would our companionship be forever severed? I must confess, my thoughts were in such turmoil, I had barely noticed our party had arrived at the docks until I ran into the constable in front of me. Muttering a quick apology, I brushed past him, following Lassiter. Shawn was presumably inside the docked ship; why else would the crew look so disgruntled? The rest of us were not so far behind, however, and we quickly followed the irritated first mate until we found Shawn.

"So? What have you, man?" Lassiter implored, crossing his arms across his chest. "What else but a clue, my dear Lestrade?" Shawn said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Now kindly be quiet as I examine this newfound hint; every time you speak, you kill off a good number of my brain cells."

"Holmes!" I cried, indignant as his treatment of Lassiter, even if it was for show ( which I highly doubted it was). "I speak nothing but the truth, Watson, and you know it! Now shush, all of you!" Despite his rude behaviour, we complied, waiting as he looked over his new object of interest. After a few moments he stood, holding a white chess piece in his hand; a bishop, to be exact. "White always moves first," he stated cryptically.

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><p><strong>Again, I am so sorry that this was delayed for so long! Also, I'm horrified at the quality of this chapter (not to mention the length). Please, dear readers, forgive me of this atrocity! <strong>

***drama over***

**At least I threw in a bit of Shules lovin' for you all. ;D**

**Review and make me feel better? **

**- MP**


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